


Laws of Gravity

by brynnmck



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: Academy hijinx, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-04-17
Updated: 2005-04-17
Packaged: 2017-12-14 06:38:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 19,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/833869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brynnmck/pseuds/brynnmck
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lessons in history, chemistry, physics, and other assorted subjects at the Fleet Academy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Much thanks to [](http://danceswithwords.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://danceswithwords.livejournal.com/)**danceswithwords** for her patient, diligent, thorough, and generally kick-ass beta-ing efforts. Thanks also to my brother for a whole host of things, including playing Flight Simulator as a kid and introducing me to nifty pilot jargon, as well as obligingly becoming a fan of every sci-fi show to which I introduce him. :)

Starbuck always seemed to do things backwards and upside-down. So it wasn’t too surprising that the first time it really hit her that Lee was dead was when she looked up from underneath the Viper and saw him grinning down at her.

* * * * * 

_Well, well,_ thought Cadet Kara Thrace as she traced a line on the sim schedule from her name to her opponent’s and found Lee Adama on the other side. _Lee frakking Adama. Guess it had to happen eventually. I’m surprised they didn’t outline the letters with gold leaf,_ she reflected wryly, and she indulged a childish instinct to smear the plain black ink with a grease-stained finger.

She’d never even met the guy, and she was already sick of him. She’d managed to go nearly two months at the Academy without running into him, and while she hadn’t exactly been avoiding him, given the size of the Academy and the number and nature of her, well, extracurricular activities, staying out of the way of the instructors’ golden boy hadn’t proved too difficult so far. She’d’ve had to cut off her ears to avoid hearing about him, though. His father was a war hero, Commander of the _Galactica,_ and to hear everyone gush on and on about him, Lee Adama was very much his father’s son—smart and hard-working and noble and blessed by the Lords, the Twelve Colonies’ best and brightest.

Not exactly her type, to say the least.

She still had no desire to meet him—and in fact, she thought it was fairly likely that if and when she did, he was going to leave the encounter with a few judicious adjustments to the pretty face the other cadets were always squealing about—but she had to admit, the prospect of going up against him in the sims was looking better and better. Rumors were starting to circulate among the faculty, and by extension the students, that in addition to being intelligent and responsible and in all other ways perfect, Cadet Adama had an excellent chance of becoming the best pilot in his class.

_No frakkin’ way._ The thought almost made her laugh. No way some by-the-book daddy’s boy was going to get the better of her, and the sooner she got the chance to prove that, the better. She might be a screw-up and a troublemaker and all the other things her teachers were beginning to call her, but Kara Thrace was the best damn pilot the Academy had ever seen and there wasn’t a chance in hell that anyone was taking that away from her.

When she strolled into the simulator room the next morning, five minutes late and still munching on the remains of an apple, he was already there, and she was almost too busy giving him a once-over to register the way her flight instructor was glaring at her.

“Cadet Thrace!”

_Nice body,_ she admitted to herself as she took in Adama’s slender, muscled form. Shame about the stick up his ass, though, which was evident even from several feet away. She was just starting to reluctantly admire his blue eyes when her instructor’s next words caught her ear.

“Cadet Thrace! If you show up late for one more simulation, the only Viper cockpit you’ll be seeing for the next three weeks will be the one you’ll be cleaning while your fellow cadets progress to the next level of training. Do I make myself clear?”

She snapped to attention immediately. “Yes, sir! Won’t happen again, sir.” Her sim privileges weren’t something she was about to frak around with.

Lt. Cabon just grunted in reply, then jerked his head in Adama’s direction. “This is Lee Adama, call-sign Husker.”

_Husker? What the hell kind of call-sign is that for a cadet?_ But she batted her eyelashes at him. “Charmed, I’m sure.”

She thought she might have caught the slightest quirk of Adama’s lips before Cabon drew her attention again. “Don’t push me, Cadet. Cadet Adama, meet Cadet Kara Thrace.” His lip curled up. “But you can call her Hot Dog.”

Kara could feel her face starting to burn. Nugget-names, they were called, temporary call-signs to be replaced when the cadets were deemed ready—one more rite of passage at the Academy. Ever since she’d been saddled with hers, she’d been determined to make it something to be proud of, rather than the mocking jab it was meant to be.

Adama was definitely grinning now—smirking, actually, in a way that made her fists itch. “Your reputation precedes you, Hot Dog.”

She gave him her sweetest smile. “Then you won’t be surprised when I kick your ass.”

Adama blinked, but his smile didn’t fade. Out of the corner of her eye, she could have sworn she saw Cabon grinning, too, but when she looked over at him, he just cleared his throat. “Strap in, nuggets, the battle starts in 60 seconds.” He raised an eyebrow. “May the best man win.”

Kara slapped her helmet on and dove for the simulator cockpit, sliding in with practiced ease. She felt the now-familiar rush of adrenaline as she shoved the canopy closed above her and watched the screens mounted inside come to life. Craggy, red-toned terrain all around her today, and she grinned as she grasped the stick, her eyes already scanning the horizon for Adama’s fighter. He’d look like a Cylon Raider to her, and she to him, some weird political mindfrak conditioning thing so they didn’t get used to shooting other Vipers, like another student maneuvered even remotely like a—

_There he is._ She hadn’t taken off yet—she found that waiting on the ground gave her the element of surprise—so she yanked back the stick and kicked in her thrusters. Her stomach lurched as the Viper rose out of the rocks to strike, quick and deadly like its namesake, and the pull and soar of flying filled her veins like it always did, mercury and ambrosia. A month in the simulators and she still had to bite her lip to keep from laughing out loud at the sheer joy of it, and she hadn’t even actually left the ground yet.

She arrowed toward the Raider, squeezing the trigger as she went, and he lurched to the side, barely avoiding her missiles, and maybe this was going to be over a hell of a lot quicker than she’d—

_What the frak was that?_ as he dropped into a barrel roll, faster than she’d ever seen, spinning three times toward the ground before he pulled out of it, oriented himself and shot past her.

_Huh,_ Kara mused, pulling hard on the stick and jamming the thruster pedal down to avoid the fire that was now heading directly for her six, courtesy of the great—and apparently maneuverable—Lee Adama. Despite herself, she felt a grin curving her lips, and she gave herself a quick shake, took a firmer grip on the stick, and settled in for the fight.

She forgot she was in a simulator, forgot that she’d be scored on her performance; her world narrowed to the red rocks swirling beneath her and the planet’s light gravity pressing her back against the seat and the maddening black dot of his Raider as it swerved and darted and spit fire at her. Finally, he couldn’t quite follow her into a dangerously sharp turn and she had him, wrenching the Viper up and around for a perfect vertical 180, her finger squeezing the trigger even as she blinked away the black spots dancing in front of her eyes from the g-forces. She couldn’t quite contain a triumphant shout as the Raider exploded in an extremely satisfying bloom of flame and debris. She did one final, exultant loop, then laid her ship down for a soft landing.

Awareness of the outside world gradually trickled back as she let her head thunk back against the seat for a moment, breathing hard, tension draining out of her limbs and a wide smile on her face. The screens around her went blank and the canopy clicked open, sliding back automatically. She looked up to see Lt. Cabon glaring down at her, his face tinted comically blue from the faceplate of her helmet.

“You fly like that outside the simulator, you’re going to get yourself killed,” he told her flatly.

“Maybe so, sir,” she answered, still grinning, “but I’d take a hell of a lot of those Cylon bastards with me.”

To her absolute amazement, Cabon actually cracked a smile, giving her a light cuff on the front of her faceplate that knocked her head back into the seat. It was possible she’d never been so happy in her life. Then his face went gruff again as he bellowed, “Clear out, cadets, the Colonial Fleet doesn’t pay by the hour,” and he strode from the room to corral the next batch of nuggets.

Kara pulled her helmet off, shaking her head to loosen her short, sweat-soaked hair from her head. She allowed herself a couple of seconds more in the cockpit, then levered herself out and dropped to the ground.

When she looked up, she saw Lee Adama standing there, watching her. They stared at each other for a long moment, both still red-faced and panting slightly, and the urge to give him a big, goofy grin almost overwhelmed her. The corner of his mouth twitched.

“What kind of a call-sign is Husker, anyway?” she asked finally.

His expression closed completely, and she felt like someone had dunked her in cold water. “It was my father’s,” he replied shortly, then turned on his heel and left.

“Oooooo-kay,” she said into the silence that followed, then shrugged, shoved her helmet underneath her arm, and headed for the showers.

* * * * * 

“All right, nuggets.” Cabon’s voice came over their comms as their display screens flickered to life. “This is a group exercise, so you’ll be scored according to the success of the group, not individual achievement. That means you, Hot Dog.”

“Roger that, sir.” Kara hoped her eye-roll didn’t come across in her voice as she fidgeted impatiently in her cockpit. At least her squadron for the day wasn’t as bad as some she’d been stuck with—it included Tiny, who was 6’3” and a good 280, but slow enough that Kara frequently beat him in boxing matches; Broadside, a small, quiet girl with a pixie grin and a deadly accurate trigger finger; and Lee Adama, who she hadn’t seen since his bizarre daddy-issue freak-out in the sim bay three weeks earlier. She had to admit, part of her had been looking forward to flying with him again, seeing if his performance against her had been a fluke.

Cabon was still issuing instructions. “Keep your eyes open, watch out for each other, and stay with your leader. Good luck.”

Kara heard the click of his comm going silent, and couldn’t help herself. “Aww, and I was gonna fly with my eyes closed today.”

And then, “I heard that, Cadet,” and of course he did, and you’d really think she’d learn to keep her mouth shut one of these days.

“You fly with your eyes closed, Hot Dog, you’re going to miss me flying rings around you,” came Tiny’s voice.

She snorted. “Tiny, the only rings I’ll be seeing will be the ones around your eyeballs after I beat your ass in the ring tomorrow.”

Tiny and Broadside both laughed, and then Adama’s voice broke in.

“All right, guys, this is Husker, let’s stay focused here.”

Kara wrinkled her nose and laughed. “Wilco, Husker, just a little pre-flight—”

“Contact!” Broadside squealed suddenly.

“Frak,” Kara muttered, hastily firing up her thrusters. Apparently the usual thirty second prep period was no longer SOP. Adama hit the sky slightly ahead of her, with Tiny and Broadside bringing up the rear. The enemy was multiplying on her dradis screen—three, and now four, and she had to wrench her head around for a visual check before she could confirm a fifth.

“Five bogeys, coming in fast.” Adama sounded calm and controlled, frak him. Her brain knew it was only a simulator but her body was refusing to comply, pumping adrenaline into her veins.

“Broadside, three o’clock!” Tiny shouted, and Kara heard a breathless, “Copy that,” watched the other girl’s Viper swerve in midair and nail the Raider with a few well-placed shots.

“Nice shooting,” Adama complimented her, and Kara felt an unexpected surge of jealousy.

Tiny barely got the next one, sending it spiraling into a mountainside, and Adama executed a textbook Daniel’s Gambit to snare the third. By that time, Kara’s trigger finger was itching and this whole teamwork thing was really starting to piss her off. But the last two Raiders were craftier, and even though the odds were in their favor, after several passes and maneuvers, all her squadron was managing to do was waste their ammunition.

“Frak this,” Kara muttered, then, louder, “all units, break hard right, on my signal, behind that mountain.”

“But what—” Tiny started.

“Just do it!” Kara yelled over him, then, “Three, two, one, mark! Break, break!”

They broke obediently, dropping out of sight below the cloud cover, and as Kara had hoped, the two Raiders followed her, the easier target.

It was about then that she noticed that Adama’s Viper was still stuck stubbornly in formation with her.

“Husker, I told you to break right!” she shouted at him, wishing the sim would let her glare at him through the canopy.

“And Lieutenant Cabon told us to stay with our leader,” he answered steadily, “and those Raiders are right on our asses so I hope you have a plan or we’re all going to fail this exercise.”

“Frak!” she hissed, but killing him would have to wait till after she’d wasted these Cylons. “Tiny, Broadside, dradis says there’s a canyon about three clicks to the north, do you read that?”

“We read it, Hot Dog,” Tiny answered.

“Good. Keep your eyes peeled and rendezvous with us there unless you hear otherwise from me,” and ignoring their protests, she continued, “Husker, we have to get below this cloud cover.”

“Roger, wilco.” He banked hard, and she followed, wisps of vapor streaming past their canopies as they tore through the fog. As soon as she could see the ground, she spotted exactly what she’d been hoping for.

“Let’s see if you’ll stay with your leader now,” she muttered, and dove into the narrow gorge that had opened up below them.

Adama swore and dove with her.

She’d expected the Raiders to hang back, to maintain altitude and wait for them to come back out into the open, and her plan was to have Tiny and Broadside pick them off while they were distracted. It was a good plan, and the only problem was that for some indiscernible reason, the Cylons decided to follow them down into the gorge instead.

“This is great,” Adama snapped in her ear, and at least he was sounding a little breathless now. “This is much better than being above the cloud cover.”

“Shut up,” she ground out. Her tone lock warning light was blinking on and off, the alarm beeping unsteadily as the Cylons behind them tried to get a clear shot. The gorge was narrowing in front of them, and she could see light streaming through the rapidly-approaching spot where it closed together almost completely before opening out again.

She was almost sure there was enough room there for a Viper. Practically positive.

“We’ve got to shake them. We go through it,” she told Adama, and now a sort of manic glee was starting to spiral its way through her.

“We do _what_?!” Adama yelled, his voice cracking, but she couldn’t enjoy it because then the walls were closing in on them and she wrenched the stick desperately to the left.

She was through the bottleneck and out into the open again in a fraction of a second, her ship spiraling to regain its orientation. She glanced behind her just in time to see Adama pull up hard, flying over the bottleneck, and one of the Raiders that had been following them tried to do the same, caught a wing on the rock, and exploded.

She half-laughed, half-shouted in triumph. “Husker, you chicken-sh—”

Then she stopped suddenly as the distinctive whine of a tone lock alarm filled her ears.

The second Raider was directly behind her.

“Frakfrakfrak—” was all she had time for before the Raider miraculously vanished in a cloud of fire.

“Always stay with your leader,” Lee repeated cheerfully as his Viper swooped past hers, heading for the rendezvous point.

There didn’t seem to be much to say after that.

They joined up with Tiny and Broadside in accordance with the rules of the exercise, maintained radio silence as they landed their ships and ended the simulation. When they climbed out of their cockpits, the four of them stood panting in the middle of the bay and stared at each other, barely even acknowledging Cabon watching them from behind the evaluation screen.

“Damn,” Broadside breathed after a minute, her small face flushed.

Tiny grinned, a little unsteadily. “You two are frakking _crazy._ ”

Kara looked over at Lee, who was looking a little shaky himself, and shrugged. “It was only a simulation.”

The look he gave her—eyebrows raised, mouth slightly open, eyes wide—was priceless. She burst out laughing, and it didn’t take more than a couple of seconds for the rest of them to join her.

“Well, I think it’s safe to say we’re done for the day,” Tiny said finally, after they’d all caught their breath. “Let me buy you two crazy frakheads a drink.” He slung an arm around Kara’s shoulders.

She grinned up at him, but Lee was shaking his head. “You guys go ahead—I’ve got work to do.”

Broadside frowned. “C’mon, Husker, Tiny never buys!”

Kara could see his face tighten at the name, but he kept a friendly, regretful smile in place. “Next time, maybe.”

He turned to go. Kara called out after him, “Hey, Lee. Thanks for having the Basic Flight manual shoved up your ass.”

When he turned back, his face was a combination of shock and amusement. “Thanks for not having any common sense whatsoever,” he replied, and she craned her neck to watch him leave as Tiny and Broadside dragged her toward the opposite door.

* * * * * 

She barged into his barracks the next morning just before 1100, for all the world as if she’d been doing it every day for months. He was bent over a book, chewing on his pen, and he blinked up at her in surprise.

She grabbed the pen from his hand and slapped the book shut. “C’mon, we’re going to be late.”

“For what?” He was giving her that “you’re crazy” look that she so frequently seemed to inspire in people. She ignored it.

“Pyramid pickup game on the quad, c’mon!” She grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled hard.

“But I—” Even as he stumbled to his feet, he was reaching back for the book.

She rolled her eyes, and spun him around to face the window. “See that?”

“It’s a window.”

“No. It’s a gorgeous day, is what it is, and I’m not about to let you waste it in here with your head shoved up your—” a calculated pause, then, “books.”

He cocked an eyebrow at her. “So this is a mission of mercy.”

“Yep.”

“And it has nothing to do with the fact that your usual squad just lost its halfback to a twisted ankle.”

She grinned. “You been checking up on me, flyboy?”

And that was when she discovered just how easy it was to make the great Lee Adama blush. “On second thought, a little fresh air sounds like a great idea. Race you to the quad, readysetgo—” and he was halfway out the door before she gathered her wits and ran after him, laughing all the way.

* * * * * 

Before long, the exploits of Husker and Hot Dog were famous—in some cases infamous—around the Academy. To be fair, the infamous ones were mostly Kara’s, but she dragged Lee along or asked him to bail her out often enough for his instructors to shake their heads and scold him about what a bad influence she was. Lee just smiled respectfully and nodded and continued to do exactly what he wanted where Kara was concerned.

Several weeks into their friendship, she was lying in the sun on the quad enjoying a well-deserved nap when she heard something thunk into the grass next to her head and damn near had a heart attack.

“Rise and shine, Hot Dog!” Dressed for the heat in shorts and a tank top, Lee was grinning down at her, clearly enjoying the way he’d nearly killed her.

She shaded her eyes from the sun, blinking as she tried to slow her racing heart. “Frak off, Lee. And don’t frakking call me that.” She levered herself up on one elbow and examined his chosen instrument of torture—a couple of thick history books, now tumbled right next to her head. Of course. Frakking Lee and his frakking books.

“Lords, you sure wake up cranky,” he needled as he flung himself down on the ground next to her, resting on his elbows and tipping his face up to the sun. “Though, now that I think of it, I’d already heard that from Shadow in Gamma Flight.”

She snorted. “Wouldn’t you like to know, _Husker_.”

She was instantly sorry. She’d made a point of not calling him by his call-sign outside the cockpit, and as soon as the name passed her lips, she saw his spine stiffen and his mouth go hard. He sat up.

“Lee—”

“If you want my help with this history stuff, we should get started now. I have another class at 1400.”

He reached for the books, and she put her hand on his forearm, curling into a sitting position. “Lee, I’m sorry.”

He sighed and dropped his head. She could feel the muscles in his arm move as he clenched and unclenched his fist. “It’s fine.”

Silence hung between them for a moment, then she offered, “You’re the only one of us whose call-sign isn’t a joke, Lee. It’s supposed to be an honor.”

His laugh was short and bitter. “An honor. Right. An honor that reminds everyone here just whose kid I am. Thanks, but that’s an honor I could do without.”

She bit her lip. “Your father’s a hero. Isn’t that—”

“Just leave it, Kara, OK?” He looked up at her, and the hurt and anger in his eyes hit her like a physical blow.

She dropped her gaze to the ground. “Right. OK. Sorry.” She took her hand from his arm and stretched out on her back again, her forearm resting across her eyes. _At least you have a father_ , she thought, but didn’t say. She was sure he was going to get up and leave, but after a moment, she heard him sigh and felt him settle on the ground next to her, his shoulder bumping companionably against hers.

“Anyway, we’re only stuck with them till someone decides we’re worthy of real ones.”

Relief made her snort out a laugh. “Thank the gods. I’ll probably get saddled with something worse, though.”

“Nah. You’ll get a good one. The good pilots always do.”

She did not—absolutely did _not_ —feel a rush of warmth at the compliment. She was just too hot from lying in the sun. When she peered over at him from underneath her forearm, he was looking at her, grinning, one arm up to shield his eyes.

“So what do you think my call-sign should be?” he asked her.

She squirmed far enough away from him that she could roll over on her side and prop her head on  
her hand, and looked him thoroughly up and down. Tanned skin, muscles on his shoulders and arms faintly sheened with sweat, bright blue eyes and strong jaw and she blurted out an answer without thinking.

“Apollo.”

He blinked at her for a second, then a slow smile spread across his face. “Really?” And now “smile” was being rapidly upgraded to “smirk,” and she felt her stomach do a long, slow roll, like an easy 180 in gravity.

“A pain in my ass, I mean,” she corrected quickly, but he kept on smirking.

“Uh-huh. I think that one would kinda clog up the comms. But I’m pretty sure that’s not what you said.”

She pulled up a handful of grass and threw it at him. “You’re delusional.”

He spluttered a bit and wiped the grass off his face… but not the smile. He mirrored her posture, leaned close. “Don’t worry, Kara. I won’t tell anyone you said I was a god. It’ll just be our secret.”

“Frak off.” She shoved his shoulder, hard, and let the momentum carry her back to her original position, the grass tickling her shoulder-blades and her forearm shading her eyes. She heard him hit the ground, felt him shaking next to her as he laughed.

“So what would you pick for me, smartass?” she asked, mainly to distract him.

“Well, most of the names I can think of for you aren’t exactly considered polite comm-chatter,” he started, and she struck out with her arm without looking, felt it bounce off his stomach as he gave an “oof” of surprise. He grabbed her wrist and threw her hand back.

“Hey!” he objected. “Watch where you’re hitting—there are sensitive areas exposed over here.”

“Oh, like you’re using them anyway.”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

She laughed, feeling her muscles slowly relaxing in the heat. His shoulder was pressing up against hers again, sticking and unsticking from their sweat as they breathed.

“You know what?” he said after a moment.

“What?”

“I can’t think of a single word that adequately describes you.”

She hoped like hell that he wasn’t watching her, because a smile bloomed on her face before she could stop it. She smashed it down the best she could and licked her lips. “Yeah, but you’re not too bright.”

He chuckled low in his throat. “Is that why I’m the only thing standing between you and an F in Colonial History?”

“Shut up, Lee.”

He actually did what she told him for once, and she lay there with her eyes closed and listened to the sounds of the quad, the distant shouts and booted feet clomping against the grass, laughter and Lee breathing next to her.

“We should really get to the studying part soon.” His voice was sun-soaked and lazy.

“Uh-huh.”

“Just another minute.”

“Right behind you.”

“Good to know.”

Lee slept through his class, Kara tanked her history test, and she was bright red with sunburn for days, but she never regretted it for a second.

The regretting came later.

* * * * * 

Kara made it through her first year by the skin of her teeth and a hell of a lot of cajoling, browbeating, lecturing, and relentless quizzing from Lee. Lee, of course, was fifth in their class.

“You can’t be the kick-ass, devil-may-care rocket jockey we all know you can be if you don’t pass Politics, Kara,” he’d tell her.

“Where’s the politics in flying a Viper?” she’d pout, knowing that he’d push her into it eventually. “See Cylon, shoot Cylon. No politics necessary.”

“But don’t you want to understand—” He’d stop at the look on her face. “No. No, you really don’t, do you?”

“Nope.” Sullenly.

He’d give that long-suffering Lee sigh, and she’d bite her lip to keep from smiling. “Well, I didn’t make the rules, Cadet, and if you don’t start making at least a little effort in your classes, you’re going to lose your chance to show me up after we get our wings.”

“Lee.” She’d blink up at him with exaggerated coyness. “Are you trying to tell me that if I just applied myself and tried to be the best I can be, if I really maximized my potential, released my inner chakras—”

He’d throw up his hands. “Fine. Wash out. Spend the rest of your life staring at the sky, wanting to be up there.”

And she’d smile, even though he had a point. He was adorable when he was frustrated with her, so earnest and trying so hard to help her see the error of her ways. He’d roll his eyes and start to leave, and she’d grab his arm, “All right, all right, don’t get your panties in a twist. Show me the way, O wise mentor,” and he’d growl and sigh and end up dragging her through yet another chapter, another test, another class.

She repaid him in her own way, by making sure he saw the sun every once in a while, by hauling him out to bars to get embarrassingly drunk with the other cadets, by doing everything she could to stop him from taking everything so frakking seriously.

They were paired together for most of their exercises now, so the first time she actually got off the ground in a real Viper, he was there with her. It was early in their second year and that first careful test flight, the green fields of the Academy stretching out below her, made every damn useless subject she’d ever taken seem worthwhile. She looked down as they passed over the Pyramid field and saw that a small audience had gathered to watch them—some just to watch them fly together, she knew, and some to see if she’d pull some patented Kara Thrace stunt—and grinned, tempted to give the people what they came for.

“Don’t even think about it, Kara,” Lee warned from where he hovered just beyond her wingspan, gliding smoothly through the test maneuvers.

“I don’t know how you fit in the cockpit with that huge stick up your ass,” she shot back, but it was mostly for show. To tell the truth, for the first time she could remember, she didn’t feel like she had to push, or surprise, or do anything other than exactly what she was doing.

His laughter was close and warm in her ear, filtered through the comm. “I’m gonna use it to beat the crap out of you if you frak up my test flight.”

“Hey, if it gets it out of your ass, I’m all for it.” She glanced over to his Viper, and she could just make out his grin through distance and their helmets and the faintly scratched canopies of the training planes.

“A hundred cadets in our year. How’d I get stuck with you?” he wondered in mock despair.

“Just lucky, I guess,” she laughed as the ground rushed by below them.

* * * * * 

“Kara, can I talk to you for a second?”

She turned away from Captain Arkan just long enough to see, through a haze of ambrosia, Lee standing at her elbow. “I’m a little busy here, Lee,” she drawled, and returned her attention to the Captain. She and Lee and several of their fellow cadets had hit the town tonight to celebrate the end of their second-year midterms, and after several glasses of ambrosia, Captain Arkan had approached her and asked her to dance. And not a minute too soon, as far as she was concerned, because Lee had been starting to get that look in his eye again, that speculative, verging-on-sexy look he’d been giving her way too often lately.

Arkan was handsome enough, laughed at her jokes, and had some pull in the fleet, and who cared if he wasn’t the brightest star in the sky? He’d do, for an evening’s entertainment—she’d been damn near claustrophobic at the Academy for the past few weeks, cramming for exams that she couldn’t care less about, and every time the good Captain couldn’t come up with a response to one of her jibes, it was like a breath of fresh air. She swayed a tiny bit closer, pressing her breast against his arm.

“Just for a second, Kara.” Lee was still behind her, was touching her arm, now, fingers warm just above her elbow. There was a polite smile fixed on his face, but she could see a muscle twitching in his jaw.

She grinned up at the Captain, whispered conspiratorially, “They’re so cute at this age, aren’t they?” and he laughed, predictably. She could practically hear Lee grinding his teeth, even over the noise of the bar. She gave a theatrical sigh. “It looks like I’m going to have to go deal with this, Captain.”

Arkan leered at her. “I’ll go get you another drink. Don’t be gone long, now.”

“This’ll just take a second.” She gave him her best smile to tide him over as Lee half-dragged her to a corner.

“What the frak do you think you’re doing?” she hissed at him as she yanked her arm out of his grasp.

He rounded on her, his mouth twisted in a sarcastic smile. “That’s funny, I was about to ask you the same thing.”

“I’m having fun, Lee, you should try it sometime,” she snapped.

“Yeah, I can see where the Captain would be a hell of a good time, what with the way he can barely put a sentence together.” His eyes were hot, his face flushed. He took a step closer to her, and she could smell him, sweat and ambrosia and male, and maybe he’d had more to drink than she’d thought.

Her stomach fluttered just the tiniest bit, but she ignored it. She smiled sweetly at him. “Well, I’m not in this for the conversation, am I?”

Something dark and dangerous flashed across his face, and she actually took a step back without thinking about it. He followed, staying inside her space, and she felt the wall against her back, and now the whole thing was really just starting to piss her off.

“It’s none of your business where, and with whom, I choose to spend my time,” she grated out, over-enunciating each word, trying not to think about the way her breath was catching in her throat.

“Oh, it isn’t?” he sneered. He placed his palms flat against the wall on either side of her shoulders, bracketing her between his arms. And if the looks he’d been giving her recently were verging on sexy, the one he had leveled at her now was downright pornographic. Ordinarily she’d have broken his hold immediately, slapped his hands away or kneed him in the stomach, but her knees were shaking and she couldn’t seem to make her arms move.

She settled for a defiant glare. “No, it isn’t. I don’t need your input or your permission. I’m not your little sister, Lee—I don’t need you to save me from myself, or whatever the hell you’re trying to do.” One last, desperate attempt to keep things from going the direction she was terrified they were going.

It failed spectacularly. His eyes sparked, and with an expression of raw hunger she’d never seen on his face before, he slowly, deliberately pressed his body against hers. Long and lean and hard and she couldn’t tell whose heart was pounding against her ribs. He tilted his head to the side, and she felt his breath warm on her neck, and then his voice, low and gravelly, resonating through his chest where it pressed against hers. “No, Kara. You’re definitely…not…my little sister.”

His lips brushed her ear as he spoke, and she shivered and let her head fall back against the wall, arching against him involuntarily. And when she heard his breathless chuckle, she panicked and slugged him in the ribs.

He was totally unprepared for it, of course, and he doubled over and she finally had space to move out from between him and the wall. After a moment of stunned gasping—on both their parts—he swung right back at her, his face a mask of fury. She ducked to avoid it but the ambrosia had killed her reflexes and he winged her anyway, and the pain that exploded across her cheekbone was a relief. Distantly, she was aware of sudden shouts and the scrape of chairs moving across the floor, but she could hardly hear over the blood rushing in her ears. The last thing she remembered clearly was the hurt and anger on Lee’s face before he rushed her and tackled her to the floor.

* * * * * 

Seeing as “drunk and disorderly” was something of an understatement for their conduct in the bar, it didn’t surprise her at all that as soon as their friends dragged them apart and carted them back to campus, they were intercepted by a superior officer and thrown—still bleeding—into the brig. Kara was fairly sure there’d been a lecture in there somewhere, too, but her head was too full of ambrosia, hurt, confusion, and a dark sort of excitement to remember it. They were tossed into adjoining cells, but neither of them was feeling particularly chatty, and it wasn’t long before she fell asleep to the deafening sound of Lee’s sullen silence.

She woke, disoriented, on the narrow cot, with a pounding head and an aching body and the vague sense that something had gone very, very wrong. She groaned, and the movement of her mouth shot fire along her cheekbone. She reached up a tentative finger to test the spot.

“You know,” Lee offered conversationally, “this is really a great place. Lots of time to think. I can see why you spend so much time here.”

Her finger came away dusted with dried blood, and she could feel the imprint of her teeth inside her cheek. Memory was trickling back now, fuzzy except for the very vivid sensation of being shoved up against a wall by her friend who definitely, _definitely_ did not think of her as a sister. She closed her eyes against the memory, against the small, sudden frission of heat between her legs. She squeezed her eyes shut more tightly to block out the image, tried to push herself up into a sitting position. A dozen fresh pains piped up cheerfully, and she bit her lip to suppress another groan.

“Are you OK?” he asked, and his tone was so penitent she couldn’t help but respond.

“I’m fine,” she muttered. “You hit like a girl.”

He laughed wryly. “If that girl happens to be you, then I must hit pretty damn hard.”

For the first time, she looked over at him, slumped carelessly on the bunk, and was shocked and just the tiniest bit pleased to see that she’d apparently given as good as she’d gotten—his shirt was torn, his chin was smeared with dried blood, and he’d made an excellent start on one hell of a black eye.

She could only hope his hangover was half as bad as hers.

“Hope I didn’t mess up your pretty face,” she managed around a dry, aching throat. “Alison in Theta Flight will be so disappointed.”

The half-hearted joke fell completely flat. Of course. She caught the hint of a wince before he dropped his head, hiding his face from her.

She closed her eyes and swallowed hard. She and Lee argued constantly, with words and occasionally with fists, but they were lightning-storm fights, quickly sparked and quickly over. This was different, and she shifted uncomfortably around the cold, hard lump that seemed to be forming in her stomach.

The silence hung heavy between them, pressing against her until she wanted to scream.

“He was the wrong guy for you, is all,” he finally mumbled into his chest, and she sighed and rested her head against the wall behind her.

“It’s always the wrong guy, Lee,” she answered wearily. _That’s the whole point._

* * * * * 

“Lords, you suck at this,” Kara gasped between fits of laughter as she listened to Lee struggling through the hedge behind her.

“Sorry…” His voice was hitching with laughter, too, muffled by leaves. “Sorry I’m not as accomplished a delinquent as the legendary _Starbuck,_ ” and on the last words, he finally dragged himself free of the branches and stumbled smack into her, setting off a fresh round of giggles.

“Don’t spill it, dumbass!” She held out the hand that was clutching a half-empty bottle of ambrosia, trying to lessen the impact, and then shoved him back with a shoulder and watched him struggle to regain equilibrium. “Did you know your vocabulary expands when you’re drunk? A few shots and it’s like you swallowed a frakking thesaurus.”

He ignored the observation, and just stood there grinning goofily and breathing hard. “I can’t believe we just did that.”

She grinned back. She’d set records on nearly every simulator sequence the Academy had, showed her instructors a few tricks in an actual Viper, and managed to establish a reputation as the best pilot in her class—maybe the best pilot the Academy had seen in years—and still, she considered convincing Lee Adama to cover the LSO’s office with graffiti on graduation night to be one of her proudest achievements.

The moonlight was just bright enough for her to see him clearly—well, as clearly as was possible given the alcohol humming through her veins. He had a leaf or two stuck in his hair, his meticulously starched gray jacket was hanging open, and the skin and tank tops beneath were streaked with red paint. They'd both left their shiny new wings safely behind in their rooms, not wanting to risk them on the dangerous mission.

She clapped a hand on each of his shoulders. “Consider it a graduation gift. Welcome to my world.”

“Y’know, you could have just gotten me a—”

A distant shout froze them both for a second, then she grabbed his sleeve and dragged him after her, staggering and laughing their way across the Academy grounds. The whole trek was a little fuzzy, but somehow they eventually made it to the outskirts of the Academy property, far beyond where any superior officer was likely to find them, at least until morning. There was a patch of ground beneath a tree that suddenly looked very inviting, and she collapsed down onto it, pulling Lee down with her.

They just lay there, panting, until he grabbed the bottle out of her hand and raised it in a wobbly salute. “Happy graduation, Starbuck.” He took a long pull.

“Happy graduation, Apollo.” It never ceased to amuse her that the name she’d picked for him years ago had ended up being his call-sign; a few whispered words to the right people, and it had stuck, the perfect payback for him teasing her about her choice. Lords only knew what the hell her call-sign was supposed to mean, but it was a hell of a lot better than Hot Dog, she knew that for sure, and she liked it even if she didn’t understand it, liked the sky and the strength and the attitude in it.

She retrieved the bottle and took a swig of her own, the alcohol leaving a warm trail down her throat and into her belly. There were probably half as many parties happening that night as there were graduating cadets, but after a few drinks with their fellow graduates, she and Lee had gone off together by unspoken agreement, despite the catcalls and knowing looks from their friends.

She took another gulp of ambrosia to avoid examining that too closely.

“Do you think Popcorn’s going to miss you?” he asked, reading her mind like he occasionally did. “Miss his last chance for a night of passion with the famous Kara Thrace?”

She guessed the teasing was better then the tantrums—those had become less and less frequent over time, though they were all the more violent when they actually happened. He seemed to save up all his best insults and accusations for the occasions when she’d really disappointed him. And it wasn’t like he’d exactly been celibate, even if his sexual escapades weren’t as infamous as hers. But now he was just needling her, more a formality than anything else. Re-visiting their greatest hits for old times’ sake. “He’ll get over it,” she answered dryly. They were quiet for a minute, then, “We graduated, Lee. We’re pilots. I can’t believe we did it.” She grinned, feeling a thrill of pure joy rush through her.

“I can’t believe _you_ did it,” he replied, all raised eyebrows and sly smile, and he shot out a hand to catch her arm before it made contact with his stomach. “Aww, getting slow, Kara. I told you that ambrosia was going to dull your reflexes.”

She was pretty sure he knew exactly what her response to that was going to be, but she tried for casual anyway. “I wasn’t even trying.” She let her hand slump closer to the ground, gradually released her hold on the bottle, out of his line of sight.

“Suuuure you weren’t.”

“I wasn’t.”

“Oh, I believe you.”

“I wasn’t. Not like I am now—” and she jumped on him, and sure enough, he was ready for it. But the ambrosia had gotten to him, too, and the wrestling match was fairly even until finally he cheated and tickled her ribs, making her bring her wrists in to where he could grab them and slam them down on the ground on either side of her, his legs pinning hers with his superior weight.

“Cheater,” she accused him, laughing and panting.

“I learned from the best,” he shot back cheerfully, and damn if he couldn’t mimic her cocky grin pretty well when he wanted to. “You really thought you could take me, didn’t you?”

“Bet your ass.” She bucked, but gravity was against her.

“Aaaand it looks like you were wrong, doesn’t it?” She rolled her eyes, struggled, got nowhere, and now he was smirking as a mischievous light sparked in his eyes. “Say it. ‘Lee, I was wrong to have doubted your manly strength and crack pilot reflexes.’”

She stuck her tongue out at him. “Lee, I was wrong to have doubted your insanely inflated ego—” and she tried to sneak a leg out from under him, but he anticipated her and shifted his weight to keep her in place. She was cackling now, and between that and the ambrosia she was doomed from the start. After a moment or two of useless maneuvering, she gave in, promising herself she’d ambush him later. “OK, OK, I was wrong, I was wrong! Get off. I said I was wrong.”

“Ha!” He grinned triumphantly, then went on in a patronizing tone, “Well, you should be used to it by now.”

She shrugged as best she could under the circumstances, gave him a patented Starbuck Eyebrow Raise. “Hey, everyone has a skill.”

His grin widened and he stared down at her, his hair disheveled and his face flushed with alcohol and laughter. He had a smear of paint across the bridge of his nose. Her heart seemed to be beating a little faster than the brief grapple warranted, but she didn’t think about it, focused on the happy buzz that was softening the edges of everything. When he didn’t move, she wriggled a little, tried another laugh. “OK, you’ve made your point. I bow to your superior reflexes. Now let me up, tough guy.”

But his smile was slipping as he watched her, a look of concentration creeping over his face. She licked her lips nervously and his eyes, huge and dark in the dim light, tracked the motion and lingered. And it was all such a frakking cliché, but she had to squash the sudden conviction that this whole night—hell, maybe the whole last three years—had been leading up to this.

“Lee…” She meant it as a command, but it came out a question.

His eyes flickered back to hers, and there was a stubborn glint in them now. “Just… Kara, I…” and without warning, he bent his head and kissed her.

She hadn’t—had _never_ —thought about what kissing Lee would be like, so she didn’t know why it seemed, at first, exactly like she’d imagined it. Slow and sweet and a little hesitant, the tingle of ambrosia still on his tongue where it brushed across hers. She thought maybe it would be safe after all, and she opened her mouth a little wider, arched her back and writhed a bit against him, experimentally.

It was like tossing a match into a tylium mine. He made a strangled sound and fell into her, his lips and tongue suddenly demanding and one of his hands releasing her wrist to slide along her arm, down between her breasts where her jacket was unbuttoned, finally dipping around her waist to her back and pulling her hips tightly against his. She gasped into his mouth at the contact, her fingers clutching his shoulders involuntarily, and she felt him grin before he placed a trail of wet, determined kisses along her jaw, down her throat. And this was definitely not safe, not even sane, but she couldn’t stop herself, closed her eyes and focused on the sensation as he murmured open-mouthed along her skin, “Kara, Kara… you don’t know how long… Kara…”

Something caught in her throat, a sob or a laugh, and she pulled him closer, her nails digging into his triceps through that perfectly starched jacket. Distantly, she was aware of his hand knocking over the ambrosia bottle, the liquid seeping into the ground next to her head. She dragged his mouth back up to hers, desperate to taste him again, slid her hands underneath his jacket and hooked a foot around his thigh, and they groaned together as she ground herself against him.

He had his tongue buried in her mouth and her jacket off and one hand underneath her shirts, splayed against the bare skin of her stomach, when he abruptly pulled away, breathing hard.

She almost decked him.

“No, no, just for a second,” he managed between gasps, grinning at the look on her face. “I think there’s a utility shed near here. Blankets. I’ll be right back,” and he ignored her incoherent protests, dove in for a hard, lingering kiss before he stumbled away.

She lay there in the near-dark, shaking, heart thundering, wondering how the frak he even knew what planet they were on, much less where the nearest frakking utility shed was. But it was so perfectly him, so utterly her organized, efficient, gentlemanly Lee, who just happened to kiss like sin itself—

And that was when it hit her. This was Lee. This was Lee, and this was her, and he was her best friend and her only family and if she frakked this up, that was it for her in the universe. Sudden panic swamped her, swallowed her, stifling adrenaline and hormones and every other emotion, and it took everything in her not to get up and run away right then—the only thing that stopped her was the absolute conviction that he’d never forgive her. She took the coward’s way out anyway, rolled over and tried to even out her breathing and prayed he’d be gone long enough to make it believable.

He was.

It was several minutes before she heard his uneven footsteps and his breathless whisper, “Sorry it took so long, but I think these’ll be—” The footsteps stopped abruptly, and she could feel him looking at her, and concentrated on breathing steadily and snoring slightly and generally doing an excellent impression of Passed-Out Kara, a sight he’d seen a hundred times before.

“Kara?” he tried. And again, a little louder, “Kara?”

She thought that maybe if the pilot gig didn’t work out, she should give acting a try, because after a moment of silent observation, she heard him sigh, _“Frak,”_ and drop down on the ground next to her. She felt the friction of cloth against her skin— _frakking blankets_ , she thought viciously, out of nowhere, as the weight settled over her—then his fingers at her temple, brushing her hair back from her face. He sighed again and pressed a kiss into the curve of her neck.

She hoped he didn’t notice the goosebumps.

“Goodnight, Kara,” he whispered in her ear, then settled himself next to her, curled up on his side with his back against hers.

_Goodnight, Lee_ , she answered silently, praying she had enough ambrosia in her to let her sleep through the ache in her chest.

* * * * * 

She woke in the middle of the night to find him wrapped around her—or she was wrapped around him, she couldn’t really tell. He was lying on his back, and she was half on top of him, head on his chest and one of her legs sandwiched between his, her arm dangling across his chest and shoulder. The blankets were crumpled up beside them. He had one hand splayed across her ribs and one buried in her hair, and she didn’t try to fight it, just lay there smelling the warm night air and Lee, aftershave and the starch of his uniform and the faint echo of paint.

He twitched and muttered in his sleep, his hand tightening briefly across her ribs, and she barely caught the words “Starbuck” and “port thrusters.” She smiled.

Even asleep, he was flying with her.

Her arm was numb where it was twisted underneath her, and she knew that if she didn’t move soon, her neck might be permanently stuck in this position. Not to mention that Lee had probably lost circulation in at least one of his legs by this time. And the grass would be wet in the morning, and anyone could walk by and find them there.

She closed her eyes and went back to sleep.

* * * * * 

In the morning, she woke to a vague headache and Lee snoring softly in her ear. They’d obviously shifted positions again during the night, and now he was spooned up behind her, his legs bent against hers, one arm wrapped tight around her waist.

Oh, and the hand attached to that arm was cupped snugly around her right breast. Also, his crotch seemed to be saluting her enthusiastically where it was pressed up against her ass.

The humor of the situation struck her all at once, and she bit her lip on a giggle, cleared her throat slightly. Lee stirred at the sound, and his thumb brushed over her nipple as he pulled her closer, breathed, “Kara…” against her neck in a voice rough with sleep.

Suddenly the whole situation seemed a lot less funny, but she resolutely ignored the lavish fireworks display that was suddenly taking place in her nerve endings and kept her tone light and teasing. “First one’s free, flyboy, but after that, all bets are off.”

She felt him jump a bit and stiffen against her—well, the rest of him, anyway—and then he rolled away. He sat up and just blinked at her for a moment, red-faced.

“Kara.”

“Morning,” she said cheerfully.

“Uh… morning.” He winced, ran a hand through his hair, which promptly stuck up in approximately twelve different directions. “Did you by any chance whack me over the head with something really heavy last night? ‘Cause I have this stabbing thing happening right behind my left eye…”

She held up the empty ambrosia bottle. “I think we have this to thank for that.”

He winced again and held up a hand to block out the sight. “Agh. Lords. Put that away, will you?”

She tossed it out of sight behind the tree trunk. “You’re such a lightweight, Apollo,” she told him, shaking her head with mock disappointment.

“Kara, if you tell me you’re not feeling this at all, I’m going to have to kill you. This is your fault.”

She rolled her eyes. “Yes, I took advantage of you and poured ambrosia down your throat. You poor thing.”

Oops. Wrong thing to say. He glanced over at her at the words “took advantage of you,” a speculative, mischievous look coming into his eye. “Actually,” he started, smirking, “as I recall—”

She felt a thrill of terror, forced a laugh. “I don’t recall much of anything that happened last night, so don’t waste your time.”

Three years in, and apparently she’d finally found a way to make Lee Adama stop smirking. He stopped dead and just stared at her, and the look on his face hit her right in the gut. “You don’t remember anything?” he asked finally, sounding a little strangled.

“Not much, no.” Her smile hung empty and unnatural on her face. She hoped he wouldn’t notice. “You know me, Lee, a few shots and everything gets pretty fuzzy.”

His jaw clenched. “Right, yeah. Of course.”

She should have just shut up then, but something about his expression made her keep going. “Why? Did I miss something important?” She gave him a teasing grin, even as she was wondering what the frak she was doing. “Did you rock my world, Apollo? Did you—”

And now he laughed, short and humorless. “It’d take a lot more than a bottle of ambrosia to get me to put the moves on you, Kara. I might as well be frakking half the guys at the Academy.”

Damn. _Damn._ She might hit more often, but he sure as hell hit harder. She couldn’t breathe for a second. “Right,” she managed eventually, hoarsely.

He rose abruptly, tugging at his wrinkled jacket. “I have to pack.”

“Right,” she repeated, and he gave her one last, piercing look before he turned his back and walked away.

She let herself fall back onto the grass. Hey, her headache wasn’t so vague anymore—it was actually pounding now. Behind her right eye, the perfect match for his.

Through the headache and the stomachache, there was something nagging at the edges of her mind. If she’d put a name to it, she would have called it disappointment.


	2. Chapter 2

_Greetings from Ensign Thrace to Ensign Adama.  
  
Why didn’t you warn me that 50% of an Officer Candidate’s grade is based on leadership? And one of the categories under leadership is “tact.” I think I’m screwed. At least the academics are better, though, real-world stuff instead of theory and philosophy.  
  
Speaking of which, I’m sure you’re wowing everyone at War College with your big brain and deep thoughts. Make sure you’re having some fun over there, OK? I’m worried about what’s going to happen to you without me there as a bad influence.  
  
I’m sorry I didn’t have a chance to say goodbye to you before you left, but you know me, always saving everything till the last minute.  
  
They’ve assigned me a four-person squadron, and so far we work together pretty well. It’s strange not having you up there with me, though.  
  
Hope you’re well. Write if you can.  
  
Kara  
  
  
Greetings from Ensign Big Brain to Ensign Tactful.  
  
Lords, you_ are _screwed, aren’t you? Better let them reassign you now—maybe you could be Head Chief of Refuse on a garbage scow. No tact necessary for that.  
  
Don’t doubt your leadership abilities, Kara. If you could convince me to pull some of the stunts we pulled, you can keep a squadron of four together in your sleep. Just wait a few more weeks before you start pranking the superior officers, OK? I’m worried about what’s going to happen to you without me there to bail your ass out of the brig.  
  
Sorry you didn’t have a chance to stop by before I left. Given the usual state of your barracks, though, I can see where you’d run out of time.  
  
Things are going well here. The weather isn’t as nice on Geminon as it was on Picon, but I’m spending a lot of time inside studying anyway. Don’t roll your eyes—this is important stuff, Kara. Not just the hows of war, but the whys. It’s fascinating. But if one more person tells me I sound just like my father, I’m going to take a page out of your book and start assaulting some superior officers. Might be good to scope out the brig anyway, in case you ever come to visit.  
  
I’m not flying much right now, just enough to keep in practice. Too much of that theory and philosophy you mentioned. Be careful up there, all right? Make sure your squadron’s watching your back, and don’t be too… well… Starbuck. Save some crazy-ass stunts for the rest of us.  
  
It’s good to hear from you.  
  
Lee  
  
  
Starbuck,  
  
I don’t have much time, but I wanted to wish you a happy birthday. Hope you can use the enclosed. And I also hope you didn’t puke anywhere inappropriate on the joyous day.  
  
Write when you can, just so I know you’re still out there.  
  
Lee  
  
  
Lee,  
  
First of all, is there an appropriate place to puke? Secondly, that was_ one time. _Third, I can still drink your pathetic ass under the table. If you ever came to visit, I’d prove it to you. In fact, it’s entirely possible that I’m drinking right now, and see? You can’t even tell.  
  
Thanks for the cigars… I’m hoarding them. And thanks for remembering.  
  
I hope they’re treating you well over there. I’m discovering that I’m not so bad at telling people what to do. Who’d’ve thought?  
  
Take care of yourself, and thanks again for the cigars.  
  
Kara  
  
  
Kara,  
  
Well, now I know how to get a quick response from you… all I have to do is question your exalted drinking abilities. Or catch you while you’re exercising them.  
  
I have some leave coming in a few weeks, and it might be good to revisit the old stomping grounds… what do you think? Is there an extra bunk around there?  
  
Lee  
  
  
Apollo,  
  
I’m really sorry, but I’m totally swamped here. Maybe in a couple of months?  
  
Starbuck  
  
  
Kara,  
  
Picon sucks this time of year anyway.  
  
Lee  
  
  
Urgent message from LT(JG) Thrace to Ensign Adama:  
  
I’m going to have to come visit you just for the pleasure of seeing you salute me.  
  
  
LT(JG) Thrace:  
  
Don’t bother.  
  
LT(JG) Adama  
  
  
Apollo,  
  
Frak you, you overachieving bastard. Well, here are a couple of stogies on me. Congratulations to us… race you to Lieutenant.  
  
Starbuck  
  
  
Lee,  
  
I know it’s been awhile, but you’re about the only person in the universe who can really appreciate this… are you sitting down?  
  
THEY WANT ME TO BE THE NEW FLIGHT INSTRUCTOR AT THE ACADEMY.  
  
I don’t know whether to laugh or cry. Did the gods rearrange the universe when I wasn’t looking?  
  
Kara  
  
  
Kara,  
  
Take the job, you idiot. Especially because I’ve got some news for you, too—we didn’t think it was going to happen, but my brother Zak is going to be starting flight school in the fall. I’d feel better knowing you were there to whip him into shape. And I’d feel worse, knowing some of your insanity will probably rub off on him, but it’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make.  
  
Seriously, Kara, look out for him, will you? Dad’s been drilling into him for years about how you’re not a man until you wear the uniform of the Colonial Fleet, and I don’t think Zak’s ever even considered whether or not he’ll be good at it. I’ll let you make your own judgments, but… just keep a close eye on him, OK?  
  
And I’ll be glad knowing he’s there to keep an eye on you, too. You’ll like him—everyone does. Maybe you’ll even be friends… assuming you’re not too drunk with power to associate with the cadets.  
  
Congratulations again—keep me posted.  
  
Lee_

 

* * * * *

  
  
Zak and Kara were never friends.  
  
“Cadet Adama, reporting for duty, sir,” he saluted her the first time they met, his wide grin lighting up the simulator bay. They always threw the nuggets into the sims before they even started theory; it had a way of showing even the cockiest cadets how very far they were from being able to fly a Viper.  
  
The brilliance of his smile caught her off guard, and she just stared at him for a moment. He looked almost nothing like Lee; he was shorter and stockier, his hair thick and dark and curly. There was something similar about his eyes, but if she’d passed him on the street, she’d never have guessed he was Lee’s brother.  
  
And Lee had never given her the look that Zak was giving her right now, stunned and speculative with a generous side of mischief.  
  
“Sir?” he prompted her, and of all things, why did the damn smirk have to be genetic?  
  
Well, that she could deal with. She stepped forward, got in his personal space, eye to eye with him. “Something amusing you, Cadet Adama?”  
  
He wiped the smile off his face, but it stayed in his eyes. “No, sir.”  
  
“You think that just because Daddy’s a big hero and big brother’s a friend of mine, I’m going to go easy on you?”  
  
That got a reaction. His expression went taut and serious. “No, sir. I don’t expect you to go easy on me, sir.”  
  
She curled a lip at him in her trademark half-smile, half-sneer. “Well, that’s good. Because in this room, I’m not your brother’s friend. And I’m not just your superior officer. I am God, Cadet, and I am going to make it my personal mission to ride you and push you and generally make your life a living hell until you either wash out or, by some miracle, get your wings. You got that?” She was amazed she got through it with a straight face; her inner twelve-year-old, never far from the surface, was giggling hysterically at hearing those words, that tone, coming out of her own mouth.  
  
Zak didn’t seem to notice. In fact, though he kept his face carefully blank, those expressive eyes of his were shining with amusement and more than a little admiration. He snapped off another salute. “Yes, sir!”  
  
She felt something twinge in her chest, gave herself a mental shake and stepped even closer to him. “Yes, what?”  
  
“Yes, God!” And was it unprofessional of her to notice that he smelled really good?  
  
 _What the frak is wrong with you?_ she demanded of herself. _Get it together, Starbuck._ And she gave him her steeliest look, another Starbuck trademark. “Good. Then get your ass in that simulator and I’ll show you how it’s done.”  
  
And his face… his whole face lit up, a completely open expression of joy and excitement that was exactly, _exactly_ how she’d felt the first time she’d sat at the controls of a Viper. He nodded once, quickly, and scrambled for the simulator cockpit.  
  
And now the twinge in her chest had become a steady, warm throb, and as she sat down to her own controls and strapped on the headset, the thought forced its way into her mind: _I am in so much trouble_.

 

* * * * *

  
“Cadet, how many times do I have to tell you? This is not happening.” She tried not to smile at the puppy-dog look he was giving her as he slouched adorably against her doorframe.  
  
“Just a drink, Lieutenant. Just a simple, innocent drink in a well-lit, public place.”  
  
She’d been sure he’d give up after a couple of weeks or even a month, but here they were four months in and he was still showing up at her door every Friday, like clockwork. She’d shut him down every time, in a variety of different and theoretically soul-crushing ways, but he refused to be crushed, and most of the other instructors were older than her and it all added up to her not going out at all anymore, and she was really, really dying for some fresh air and a glass or two of the green stuff.  
  
It had nothing to do with the desire to spend more time with Zak Adama. Nothing at all.  
  
“It’s a whole group of us, sir. Nothing inappropriate, I promise,” he wheedled, and dammit, he could tell she was weakening. “Nothing the other instructors wouldn’t do. Just a little change of scenery.”  
  
She raised an eyebrow at him. “Is someone bringing cards?”  
  
One of these days, that grin was going to render her legally blind and she’d never fly again. “Three decks, sir.”  
  
She sighed, rolled her eyes. He only grinned wider. Finally, she pushed him out of the doorway, out into the hall. “Fine. Tell me where you’re meeting, and I might— _might_ drop by.”  
  
“The Viper’s Nest, do you know it? It’s on the other side of—”  
  
“I know where it is,” she interrupted him, and slammed the door in his face.

 

* * * * *

  
She never knew, afterwards, how exactly Zak managed to maneuver her away from the rest of the group, but somehow she found herself neatly and discreetly separated from the laughing crowd of students, her head pleasantly spinning with ambrosia and Zak walking solid and steady beside her along the darkened streets.  
  
As they walked, she let herself forget that he was a student, forget that he’d been displaying a disappointing lack of flying instincts. In fact, he wasn’t particularly gifted in any of his classes—except for philosophy, that was his strong point, and boxing, for which he claimed he could thank his father and brother—but everyone seemed to overlook it, charmed by his enthusiasm and cheerfulness and dedication. And as they drifted through the city, she found herself talking to him, somehow, telling him stories she’d never told anyone, about her childhood, about her failed athletic career, about the thrill it had given her when the Academy had asked her to come teach basic flight.  
  
“Lee says you’re the best pilot he’s ever seen,” Zak told her, his arm just barely brushing hers as they moved.  
  
Hearing Lee’s name jolted her momentarily, like seeing a familiar face in a foreign crowd. She smiled ruefully. “He’s never said that to me.”  
  
Zak laughed. “Of course not. In fact, he’ll probably kill me for telling you.” They walked in silence for another moment, and for the first time all night, it felt awkward.  
  
He stopped suddenly and put a hand on her arm. “Lieutenant.”  
  
She turned to face him. “Cadet.” She tried for a raised eyebrow and a patronizing smile, but her blood was starting to hum in her veins.  
  
He took a deep breath, then looked her straight in the eye. “Is there something going on between you and my brother?”  
  
“What?” She rolled her eyes, started to turn around again. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”  
  
He tightened his fingers on her jacket. “I think you do know. He says there’s nothing going on between you, that you’re just friends, but I want… I want to hear it from you.”  
  
His face was so open and earnest in the dim light, and her head was spinning and her heart was full and this was the part where she would normally run away, but he had a grip on her arm and she couldn’t stand to break it. “Lee says there’s nothing going on between us?” She hadn’t really intended that to be a question.  
  
He jerked his head once, a tense affirmative. She wasn’t sure, but she thought he might have been holding his breath. That thought made her realize that she hadn’t been breathing, either, and she let the air out of her lungs slowly, deliberately. “Well, that’s the truth. Lee and I are friends. That’s it.” She felt a tiny snap somewhere inside her body as she said it, but then Zak was giving her one of his sun-bright smiles.  
  
“Really?” he asked.  
  
She nodded. “Really.”  
  
“Good.”  
  
Before she could move or think or do anything, he took her face in his hands and kissed her. It caught her completely off-guard, and it was against regulations and protocol and she really needed to—  
  
 _Frak protocol_ , she thought fuzzily as his mouth devoured hers. She wasn’t sure how long the kiss went on, conscious only of the thorough exploration of his tongue in her mouth, the way his hand tightened on her hip, the soft moan he made when she pulled him closer and angled her head to give them both better access. When he finally broke away, she was dizzy and gasping.  
  
“I can’t—” she started, backing away from him, but he only grabbed her and pulled her close again, kissed her fiercely. His fingers tangled in her hair and she could feel his heart pounding, matching hers. She was equal parts thrilled and terrified, but he just held onto her, held on until she melted against him, until she forgot why she was supposed to be scared.  
  
Finally, he let her up for air, examined her face carefully and nodded at what he saw. “That’s better.” His voice was low, intimate, sending shivers from her neck to her knees.  
  
“Zak…” she tried again, huskily, and he smiled, and she didn’t even bother, because she knew that as soon as she’d used his name, she’d given herself away. _Bad tactics_ , she scolded herself internally, but she couldn’t really bring herself to care. She shrugged, smiled, and kissed him this time, sweet and hot and full of promises. When she was done, she pulled back just far enough to rest her forehead against his.  
  
“This is going to be complicated,” she told him, trying for seriousness.  
  
He grinned, his eyes brilliant in the darkness. “Complicated works for me,” and he tightened his arms around her waist. “Kara,” he added, experimenting, rolling the word around like he was trying a new and exotic food. “Kara,” he whispered again, kissing the bridge of her nose, the edge of her cheekbone, the corner of her mouth.  
  
She grinned and tried not to giggle as his lips tickled her skin, tried to ignore her mother’s voice in her head telling her that this was too much, too good, the gods didn’t intend for humans to be this happy… “I think you should still refer to me as God,” she mused thoughtfully, and then they were laughing into each other’s mouths and then she couldn’t laugh because she couldn’t breathe, just fisted her hands in the back of his shirts as she kissed him and held on with everything she had.

 

* * * * *

  
  
“C’mon, Kara,” Zak whispered, pressing kisses to the rigid muscles in her neck and shoulders. “You’re off duty, everyone’s out for the night, I’ve been missing you all week… I’ve been thinking about you all day…”  
  
She couldn’t breathe. She shoved him away. “Zak. I said no.” She got up and crossed to her desk, stood there aimlessly fiddling with the lesson plans and Viper specs strewn across it. The feeling had been building in her for days, maybe longer. Two months, she’d been with him, two months to the day, and it was wrong that she knew that, wrong that it had even entered her mind, wrong most of all that when she’d woken up that morning, the thought had made her smile. Starbuck didn’t celebrate anniversaries—she carved another notch in her bedpost and took off for the sky.  
  
When he spoke again, his voice was steady, soothing, like she was a skittish horse. “What’s wrong?”  
  
She shook her head, annoyed. “What’s wrong is that I have more important things to do than frak you.”  
  
“All right, that’s fine, we don’t have to—”  
  
“That’s not the _point_ , Zak,” she snapped, rounding on him.  
  
“Then what is the point?” he asked reasonably, and gods, sometimes fighting with him felt like throwing herself up against a brick wall.  
  
“The point is…” She stopped, stammered, then said the first thing that came into her head. “This isn’t working.”  
  
He blinked, and something flashed in his eyes, but he didn’t move. “This isn’t working,” he repeated flatly.  
  
“No.” She started pacing, and her skin felt too tight and why was he just sitting there? “This job is the best thing that’s happened to me in my life, and I shouldn’t be risking it for some fling with a student.” There. That wasn’t even a lie, and if she was lucky, he would leave now and take this new Kara—this laughing, anniversary-remembering Kara—with him and she could breathe again.  
  
It pissed him off, she could see it in his face, but he just looked at her. “This isn’t a fling.”  
  
She sneered. “Maybe not for you.”  
  
“And not for you, either.” Whatever was in his eyes was starting to smolder now, but his voice was infinitely calm, implacable.  
  
She barked out a short, mirthless laugh. She could feel herself spiraling, a wild planet with a broken orbit, out of control. She tried one last time. “Flings are what I do best. Haven’t you heard? Hasn’t Lee told you all about Starbuck, the legendary slut of the Academy?”  
  
He flinched at that, a little, but not nearly enough. “Lee has nothing to do with this.” He stood up, finally, and moved toward her. She stopped pacing and put her back to the wall without thinking about it, crossing her arms in front of her and panting like she’d just run a marathon.  
  
He put a hand on each of her elbows, carefully. “Kara.”  
  
“What?” Dammit, her traitor eyes were burning now, and she didn’t cry, Kara Thrace never cried, except she did, much too often, and sometimes she felt like there was an enormous lake of tears inside her always, just waiting to spill over.  
  
“I’ve seen your face when we’re making love,” he told her, low and intense. “I’ve seen the way you look at me, the way you smile at me. The way I make you laugh. If this is a fling, I’d hate to see how you react to the real thing.”  
  
She wanted to run and her fists itched but his eyes, so full of everything that terrified her, kept her rooted to the spot. “I can’t…” she whispered finally, those stupid frakking tears threading down her cheeks.  
  
He slid his hands from her elbows up her arms, over her shoulders, finally cradling her neck. His thumbs brushed over her wet cheekbones. “You don’t know how to be happy with someone.” She could feel the sobs coming now, burning in her chest. “I want… I want to show you.”  
  
And that broke her. Tears blinded her and she collapsed against his chest, choking with sobs. She felt his arms come around her, just enough pressure to let her know he was there without making her feel trapped. She wanted to tell him that he should run while he could, that she was crazy and messed-up and she’d probably ruin his life somehow, but she was crying too hard to speak, her breath coming in great heaving gasps. He kissed her hair, murmured softly to her, and she finally gave in and gave up and wrapped her arms around him, locked her fingers together behind his back and tried to tell herself that maybe the gods would let her have this one thing.

 

* * * * *

  
  
Kara slid into the simulator cockpit with a sigh of relief. She’d been restless and antsy all day, and while the Academy would frown on her taking her actual Viper for a spin after hours, at least she had the keys to the sim bay. She’d punched in one of the more challenging courses for herself, and she shook her head to focus, the tension sliding into adrenaline as she felt the comforting curve of the stick under her hand.  
  
The first blips appeared on her dradis screen, and she jammed the thruster pedal down, pulled the stick to the breaking point, and the best thing about sims was that the Chief couldn’t yell at her for driving her ship too hard. Warning lights flashed, alarms beeped, but she ignored them, leveled out and scanned the fake sky for enemy contacts. Then the first Raider was on her, and the second, and everything vanished except the thrill and panic and blur of battle.  
  
She’d taken out four of them and was trying to pin down a pesky fifth when something penetrated her focus. This last Raider wasn’t displaying the typical simulator tactical programming. In fact, its flying style was distinctly familiar, and she felt a slow grin spreading across her face. Lords knew how he’d hacked into the sim—he wasn’t even supposed to arrive for another couple of hours—and he was just the slightest bit rusty, but once she was looking for it, there was no doubt about it.  
  
She laughed out loud and rolled to avoid his fire, the world spinning around her in a swirl of colors. She came up out of the roll, reversed course and returned fire, and she laughed again as he barely dove out of the way. They sparred for a few minutes longer and it felt so good she almost didn’t want it to end, but when she finally had her shot, she took it, and the simulated Raider exploded in a now-familiar orange fireball.  
  
She punched in the override code to end the simulation immediately, pushed back the canopy with one hand and loosened her helmet with the other. She jumped from the cockpit to the deck without bothering with the ladder, and when she straightened up, there he was, grinning, streaks of sweat darkening the hair around his temples.  
  
“Hey,” he greeted her.  
  
“Hey.” She grinned back, so wide she was sure it was going to split her face right in half. The world seemed to shift around her, settling into place with an almost audible click.  
  
She almost jumped when she felt arms come around her from behind. Zak’s familiar scent washed over her as he kissed the curve of her jaw where it met her neck. “Pretty fancy flying, there, Lieutenant.”  
  
She had a sudden, wild feeling of disorientation, of being outside herself and watching the three of them from a distance. Her skin heated with a brief rush of embarrassment, then guilt. Then it was gone, and she was herself again, welcoming her best friend and her lover’s brother.  
  
“You’re rusty, Apollo,” she told Lee, smirking at him as she closed her hands over Zak’s.  
  
“And you’re as crazy as ever,” he replied. She was too far away to read the look in his eyes, but his smile hadn’t faltered. “How you haven’t liquefied your brains by now is a complete mystery to me. Although maybe—”  
  
“Hey,” Zak interrupted, pressing his cheek to Kara’s. “Is that any way to talk to the woman who just kicked your ass?”  
  
Kara cocked a smug eyebrow in Lee’s direction, and he laughed. “Oh, we’re gonna go later, little brother, and then we’ll see who kicks whose ass.”  
  
“OK, but first you get to buy me some chow,” Zak told him cheerfully, and Kara added, “And a drink,” as she let Zak pull her toward the door.

 

* * * * *

  
  
It was definitely very weird, seeing her life as a student and her life as an instructor come together in the two men sharing the table with her, currently arguing over the last few bites of a sandwich in between childhood reminiscences. It was weird, and she hadn’t realized how separate those times had become in her memory, but she was growing more accustomed to it with time… though the ambrosia certainly wasn’t hurting either. In fact, she thought as she looked at their laughing faces, seeing the two of them together was somehow making her love both of them more.  
  
“Oh, man,” Lee was shaking his head as he finished off the sandwich, “I thought Mom was going to kill you.”  
  
“I didn’t know it was permanent!” Zak protested, sending them both into gales of laughter again. Zak finally caught his breath and slung an arm around Kara’s shoulders, his grin even more incandescent than usual. “Sorry, Kara, we’re probably boring the crap out of you.”  
  
She smiled back. “Nah, this is some great dirt to torment you with later.”  
  
“If you want to talk about dirt,” said Lee, elbows on the table, sipping his drink, “I could tell you a few stories about Starbuck here that would—”  
  
The table was just small enough that her foot could easily reach his shin. “That won’t be necessary, Lee.”  
  
“Ow!” he yelped, rubbed the spot she’d kicked. “Well, _that_ I haven’t missed…”  
  
“No, I think it’s absolutely necessary,” Zak put in, nudging her with his hip.  
  
“Oh, you think so?”  
  
He just smiled beatifically at her. “Lee’s going to be here for a week,” he pointed out, “and you have to sleep sometime, Kara, and when you do, there will be brotherly bonding and I will come back with every dirty detail about your Academy exploits. And then I’m going to tell all the rest of the cadets, and—”  
  
“And you forget that despite whatever relationship we may have, I can still make your life a living hell,” she interrupted. “How’s a week of cleaning the latrine sound to you, nugget?”  
  
“We don’t have a latrine here, Kara.”  
  
She smiled sweetly. “We will after you dig one.”  
  
That got a laugh from both of them, and Zak leaned in to give her a quick kiss on the cheek. “Speaking of latrines… I’ll be right back.” He pointed a finger at Lee. “Keep your hands to yourself, all right?”  
  
“No problem,” Lee answered, holding his hands palm-out in front of him, and Kara craned her neck to watch Zak make his slightly unsteady way across the room towards the head.  
  
After he disappeared from sight, she found she couldn’t look at Lee. She studied the table instead, her fingers moving of their own volition, tearing the napkin in front of her into tiny, ragged pieces.  
  
“I’m happy for you.”  
  
Her head snapped up at the sound of his voice. He was smiling, but it had been more than two years since she’d seen him and she didn’t know how to read what was going on behind the smile.  
  
“You are?”  
  
“Of course.”  
  
She watched him for a minute, waiting, but he didn’t seem to have anything else to say. “What? No lecture? No comments about my vast sexual history? No threats of what you’ll do to me if I break your brother’s heart?”  
  
He shook his head, and now it was his turn to glance down at the table. His fist tightened, then released, and the line of his shoulders was tense. But when he brought his eyes back up to meet hers, they were clear, open blue. “I admit, when Zak first told me about you two, I was worried. For both of you,” he went on, as she inhaled to respond, “that it wouldn’t work out, or that it would be bad for your career, or even his. But watching you together… I’ve never seen you like this. You make each other happy, Kara. That’s all I’ve ever wanted for both of you.”  
  
Her chest tightened, and she found herself watching her own hands, watching her fingers tangle and untangle in chaotic patterns. “Thank you,” she managed finally, her voice unsteady. She was opening her mouth to say more when Zak slid back into the booth next to her.  
  
“Miss me?” he asked her mischievously.  
  
She looked at him, at his handsome, familiar face and his laughing eyes, and kissed him. “Of course,” she replied, and raised her hand to order another round of drinks.

 

* * * * *

  
After that first time, Lee came to visit more often, and the strangeness of it slowly faded, replaced by the simple comfort of having the two men she loved most together in one place. Once, while they were playing Pyramid, Zak pulled her close, trying to kiss and cajole his way into distracting her, and one of his friends pulled out a camera and snapped a picture. Zak’s relationship with Kara was one of the worst-kept secrets in his squadron, and though the nuggets were still too fearful and respectful of Starbuck to confront her directly about it, physical evidence was an opportunity not to be missed.  
  
When Zak brought her a copy of the picture a few weeks later, she was surprised to see that Lee was in it, too, looking affectionate and just slightly uncomfortable, textbook Lee.  
  
She grinned and traced the line of her face and Zak’s, pressed close together. “Like that was going to work on me.”  
  
He raised a shoulder. “It was worth a shot. Anyway, I’m late for Physics, but I thought you might like a copy.” He gave her a quick kiss and was gone.  
  
She probably shouldn’t have—it was asking for trouble, practically advertising her flouting of the anti-fraternization rules—but she smiled, shrugged, and taped the picture inside her locker.

 

* * * * *

  
Kara was sprawled across Zak, lazy and warm and sated, when she noticed his heart hammering against her ear.  
  
She raised her head, eyed him warily. “What’s up with you? I know I’m good, but I’m not _that_ good.”  
  
He blinked. “What?”  
  
“Your heart,” she explained, trailing a finger back and forth across his chest. Sure enough, still thundering away in there. “Either something’s up, or you really need to work on your cardio health. And since I just made you run three miles today and you barely even blinked…”  
  
“It’s nothing.” He tried to pull her head back down. “Just go to sleep, Kara.”  
  
She resisted the pressure of his hand, propped herself up on an elbow. “Well, I’d love to, if Hephaestus hadn’t set up shop inside your chest cavity.” She poked his sternum and grinned at him. “You have no secrets from God, flyboy. So spill.”  
  
To her delight, he flushed bright red, closed his eyes. “Oh, frak it,” he ground out between clenched teeth, then rolled over and reached a hand underneath the bed.  
  
His movement tilted her to the side, and when she righted herself again, he had a small box in his hand.  
  
She felt her eyes go huge, and suddenly she was having trouble breathing, not to mention discovering a lot more sympathy for the whole pounding-heart thing.  
  
He bit his lip, but she could see the beginning of a smile curving his lips. “Kara… you know I love you. And I know that—” his voice faltered for a second, then went on, “marriage probably isn’t something you’ve thought much about, but… I really, really want to marry you, and I’ll be getting my wings soon and I was hoping that maybe you might think about—”  
  
She could hardly see through the sudden blur of tears in her eyes, but she followed the sound of his voice to his mouth and kissed him, hard and long and thorough, burying one of her hands in his hair and tangling her legs in his. She only pulled back when oxygen became absolutely necessary.  
  
His smile was like a supernova, and he had tears tangling his long, dark eyelashes. “Is that a yes?”  
  
She gulped a laugh, tapped the lid of the box. “Let’s see the hardware.”  
  
He flushed again and ducked his head, opened the box. Inside was a simple, silver-colored band. But it wasn’t quite silver, and she looked at him quizzically. “I know it’s not very traditional, and I know there aren’t any stones on it, but I thought those would get in the way of your flying… it’s made out of prandium. You know, like they use for the Viper frames?”  
  
She blinked at him, astonished, and her heart was so full she was afraid her body couldn’t contain it. “You got me… a ring… made of prandium?”  
  
He was getting nervous, now, and he babbled, “Well, had it made, actually, but I can get you something else if you want, I just thought you’d want something different…” He trailed off when she buried her face in his neck, her body shaking with sudden sobs. She felt a hesitant hand on her back. “Kara? Are you OK?”  
  
She pulled it together enough to look back up at him. “You’re insane,” she managed, sniffling, laughing, “and you’re probably going to regret it in a million different ways, but of course I’ll marry you, you idiot.”  
  
She felt his smile more than saw it as he kissed her, smearing their tears together, and when he pulled away they were both grinning like fools. “Put it on,” he urged her, taking the ring out of the box with shaking hands.  
  
Her hands weren’t exactly steady, either, but it didn’t take long for them to realize that the ring was too big for her fourth finger.  
  
Zak groaned and dropped his head. “Oh, no. I’m so sorry, Kara, I had to guess…”  
  
“Shut up, idiot,” she cut him off, still sniffling, and slid the ring onto her thumb. It fit perfectly.  
  
“Kara, you’re not wearing it there.”  
  
“The hell I’m not,” she retorted, turning her hand to admire it. “I like it.”  
  
He shook his head. “You’re insane.”  
  
“And you’re an idiot,” and she kissed him, and it suddenly became very convenient that they were in bed and naked already. She stretched herself against him, languorously, felt him stir in response. He chuckled and slid his hand from her neck down along her spine, making her shiver.  
  
“Kara,” he murmured against her mouth as he rolled her over on her back and worked a knee between hers.  
  
“Mmm?”  
  
“Do you think,” and he was kissing her throat now, “when we’re married,” and her collarbone, “you could stop calling me an idiot?”  
  
She grinned and bit his shoulder. “Not very likely.”  
  
He chuckled again, then they both gasped as he slid inside her, smooth and easy. She hooked a leg around his hip to pull him deeper. “Well,” he managed, breathless, “guess you can’t have everything…”  
  
His tone made her snicker, but the weird thing was, for the first time in her life, she was starting to wonder if maybe she could.

 

* * * * *

  
  
It was hubris, she knew, and the gods punished hubris. She should have known better than to think herself the exception.  
  
As she watched Zak’s Viper tumble into the ground and vanish into the fires of Hades, she had a moment of numb, icy clarity, before the screaming and puking started. And in that moment, the thought rang pure and sharp in her mind: _Of course. Of course. I should have known._

 

* * * * *

  
“Stop.”  
  
She barely registered the voice, and her steps didn’t falter. Her Viper shone dully in the dim light of the hangar, like a beacon, like salvation. It was after hours, but the Chief was just going to have to forgive her; she’d spent three days in bed before she’d realized that what she really needed was the sky.  
  
A hand on her arm whirled her around. “Kara, _stop_.”  
  
She stumbled from the inertia, and seeing his face was like a punch in the stomach. Of course he’d come back for this, but for some reason it had never crossed her mind. She started back towards the Viper again. “Leave me alone, Lee.”  
  
He grabbed her arm again, yanking her aside and placing himself directly in her path. He looked terrible, red-rimmed eyes and uneven beard and his face gaunt with anguish. “I’m not letting you do this.”  
  
She glared at him. “It’s my ship, I’ll fly it when and where I want to.” She tried to shove her way past him, but he grabbed her wrists and held on.  
  
“You go up there right now, you’re going to get yourself killed,” he told her, his voice hoarse and sleepless. Then he pulled her closer, studied her face, comprehension dawning. “Right. Of course. That’s what you want, isn’t it?”  
  
She rolled her eyes and struggled against his hold. “Spare me the psych evaluation, I just—”  
  
“Well, let’s go then.” He released her hands, threw his arms out, face twisted in a mockery of a smile. “Let’s do this, Kara, you and me. Starbuck and Apollo, together again.” His eyes were wild. “There’s a ship around here I can use, right? Let’s get to it.” He spun around, searching for a likely craft.  
  
“Shut up.” She hadn’t cried yet, but the back of her throat was starting to burn, and there was a huge, hot lump in her chest.  
  
He rounded on her, and she swore his eyes were going to bore a hole right through her. “You don’t think I have it in me, right? Don’t think I can be as crazy, as suicidal as Starbuck? Well, let’s find out.”  
  
Her vision was starting to fog. She grabbed at his shoulder as he started toward one of the sleeping Vipers. “Lee, don’t.”  
  
“Don’t what?” And she thought maybe he was crying now, but everything was going red and gray and it was hard to tell. “Don’t follow you up there? Don’t do something stupid and dangerous, like you would? Why wouldn’t I, if I’ve lost Zak and I’ve lost what little I had of my father, and now I’m going to lose you, too?”  
  
The shock of it, of hearing him say it, kept her still for a moment, then she launched herself at him with an incoherent yell. He caught her fists, pushed back as she fought against him, until her arms gave out abruptly and she fell forward, screaming and sobbing into his shoulder, her fingernails digging into her palms, drawing blood. He let go of one fist and put a hand behind her head, his fingers wrapping tightly around her hair, his chest heaving against hers as they both sank to the hangar floor.

 

* * * * *

  
  
She stood next to Commander Adama at the funeral, or he stood next to her, she couldn’t really remember. Somehow, even though she’d just met him, his presence was comforting, a strong, steady warmth beside her. Lee was standing across from her, his arm around his weeping mother, but she couldn’t stand to look at him, or at Zak’s picture, or at the neutral gray monolith of the coffin. In her peripheral vision, she caught the glint of sunlight off of Zak’s wings— _he shouldn’t have had, should never have had_ —as Lee placed them on top of the casket.  
  
It startled her when the Commander took her hand, but it was distant, almost like it was happening to someone else. It took everything she had not to turn on him, not to yell, _I killed him, I killed your son, how can you stand there next to me when I killed your son?_ But she didn’t, just stood there and tried to keep the tears from spilling over as she saluted and listened to the sharp echo of the guns against the silence.

 

* * * * *

  
  
The funeral luncheon was her first, and it was pretty much everything she’d expected. There were more than a few cadets there, but she avoided them with single-minded determination, which left a host of people she’d never met—the Commander’s war buddies, she figured, but she didn’t bother to ask. The important thing was that one of them had a bottle of very, very strong alcohol, so strong that she didn’t even care that she had to let him pull her into a side room, back her up against a table, and unbutton her jacket before he’d give her the last few sips.  
  
She had the bottle tipped completely upside down and the final drops were burning down her throat when she heard the door open. Her benefactor immediately dropped his hands from her breasts, and she almost burst out laughing when she saw Lee standing pale and stunned in the doorway.  
  
“Lee,” she greeted him, and the nod she gave him was slow but the room spun around her anyway. “Lee, I want you to meet…” She couldn’t remember the man’s name, but her eyes caught on the stripes at his shoulder. “This is… Major…” She trailed off, smiled stupidly.  
  
Lee’s jaw clenched, his eyes blazing in his white face. “Major,” he ground out, “I’m Lee Adama.” He cast a careless hand towards Kara. “And I see you’ve already met my dead brother’s fiancée,” he added, carefully enunciating each word.  
  
 _I’m going to feel that in the morning_ , Kara thought distantly, and almost laughed again at the dumbfounded, appalled look on Major Whatshisname’s face. He stammered and stumbled his way out of the room, but she barely noticed.  
  
Lee was crossing to her slowly, his expression disbelieving. “Gods, Kara. _Gods_. Even for you, this is… what were you thinking?”  
  
 _I’m thinking I killed your brother_ , she thought, _and if you don’t get the frak away from me I’m probably going to kill you, too_ , but she couldn’t quite bring herself to say it, even though she knew she should. She shook the empty bottle in his face. “This is what I was thinking.”  
  
He wrenched the bottle from her hand, spun and threw it against the wall. She jumped when it shattered. Glittering shards of glass littered the room. Lee stood there with his back to her for a moment, his shoulders heaving. But when he finally turned back to her, his face was composed, his anger under tight rein.  
  
“Kara. You’re upset, you’re _not_ thinking,” he started, and that wasn’t right, he was supposed to be mad at her, supposed to hate her even if it wasn’t for the right reasons, and he wasn’t hating her and so she did the worst thing she could think of.  
  
She kissed him.  
  
There was a moment that he just stood there like a statue, and a moment where he grabbed her arms and desperately kissed her back, then he shoved her away and just stared at her, horrified and panting.  
  
She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “Your father offered me a post on the _Galactica_. I’m taking it.” Her voice was hoarse and weary.  
  
His mouth worked soundlessly, a host of emotions warring on his face, until finally he whispered, “He killed Zak, Kara.”  
  
Something bubbled up in her throat—giggles or bile, she didn’t know which—but she swallowed it, and her brain was screaming, _I did I did I killed him I did_ , but she couldn’t make herself form the words. “I’m taking it,” she repeated instead.  
  
And somehow, out of everything she’d said and done, that was the breaking point. All the blood had drained out of his face, and the circles under his eyes stood out like bruises, but the look he gave her was sharp and hard as a knife. “I don’t want my brother’s sloppy seconds anyway,” he told her icily, deliberately, then turned on his heel and left.

 

* * * * *

  
  
When Starbuck brought her battered Viper in for a landing, the CAG was waiting for her on the deck. “The Commander wants to see you,” he told her shortly, and she nodded, tossed her helmet to one of the Specialists, and began weaving her way through Galactica’s corridors.  
  
She’d been on the ship a month, and it had passed in a blur. She missed Zak like her right arm, and Lee like her left, and the only time she didn’t feel like crawling out of her own skin was when she was in her cockpit. She shrugged uncomfortably, trying to shake the near-constant claustrophobia that always enveloped her as soon as she landed.  
  
The old man was waiting for her in his office. He smiled a little when he saw her, his eyes friendly. “Starbuck, come in.”  
  
She stepped into the room, gave him a tight smile in return. “The CAG said you wanted to see me, sir.”  
  
He nodded and gestured for her to take a seat. He sat down in the chair next to her, stared at the opposite wall for a moment, and she watched his scarred profile. Finally he met her eyes. “Chief Tyrol tells me you’ve been stretching his abilities a little more than he’s used to.”  
  
“Sir?”  
  
“He’s a talented man, Starbuck, but he isn’t used to repairing Vipers after basic recon missions.”  
  
She swallowed, focused on her lap.  
  
Adama went on. “And the CAG tells me that you stayed behind to do an extra sweep of that farming community on Caprica last week, even though the hurricane was closing in, the town had been evacuated, and you were at bingo fuel.”  
  
“I wanted to be sure the area had been secured, sir.”  
  
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him nod. “I see.” He was silent, then, “Give me your eyes, Lieutenant.”  
  
She looked over at him obediently, and the warmth in his face stunned her like it always did.  
  
“Do you know why I offered you a post aboard this ship?” he asked her quietly.  
  
She shook her head, and they were heading into dangerous territory now, but she fought to keep her voice steady. “No, sir.”  
  
He reached over and took her hand, and now her eyes were burning, and what was it about the Adama men that always brought out the waterworks in her? “My son loved you, Kara. And he’s gone, and Lee may as well be gone,” and she should feel guilty about that, but what was one more layer of guilt laid over a thousand, “and so I brought you on this ship because I hoped to get to know you, to know the woman my son was going to marry. Who was going to be my daughter.” He squeezed her hand. “Don’t deny me that opportunity.”  
  
The tears were trembling at the edges of her eyelids now, and she bit the inside of her cheek to keep her focus. “Yes, sir,” she answered, forcing her voice past the tightness in her throat.  
  
He squeezed her hand once more, then smiled at her. “Dismissed,” he told her gently, and she nodded once and stumbled out of the room.

 

* * * * *

  
  
It figured, Starbuck thought, that as soon as she was really starting to get her feet under her, word came down that the _Galactica_ was going to be decommissioned and turned into a frakking museum.  
  
“Disgusting, is what it is,” Helo mused, staring up at the observation window as sprawled out naked next to her, a blanket drawn carelessly over his hips. He’d been on the ship almost a year, and Kara had liked him as soon as she’d met him. He was sardonic and good-hearted, handsome and smart, terrible at cards and excellent in bed, and neither of them minded if they occasionally thought of other people while they were together.  
  
Kara groaned agreement, took a long drag off her cigar.  
  
“Oh!” Helo rolled over on one elbow to look at her. “But guess what? We’re getting a celebrity guest for the ceremony.”  
  
She snorted. “Be still my heart. Who is it?”  
  
“The Commander’s son, the famous Captain Apollo.”  
  
She almost choked on her cigar. Helo raised an eyebrow.  
  
“Friend of yours?”  
  
She thought of Lee, folded resolutely away behind the picture she kept taped in her locker. Of everyone on the ship, only the old man knew she’d ever met him. She shrugged. “Not particularly,” she said with exaggerated care.  
  
Helo’s eyebrow climbed even higher. Evasive maneuvers were clearly in order. She placed her cigar carefully aside and rolled on top of him. “Let’s talk about something else,” she purred, and Helo just shrugged and grinned and let himself be distracted.

 

* * * * *

  
  
Kara wasn’t much on psychoanalysis, but in retrospect, she was pretty sure she’d picked the fight with Colonel Tigh for the express purpose of getting thrown into the brig so she wouldn’t have to face Lee for the first time in the ready room, under the watchful eyes of all the other pilots. It never occurred to her that Lee would come visit her there, though Lords knew he’d done it a dozen times before.  
  
It wasn’t exactly a joyful reunion; still, she was a little proud that they’d at least managed to smile at each other briefly before they started in with the baggage and the insults and the threats.  
  
But then the world ended and none of that seemed very important anymore, and she was just grateful that he was there, somewhere, even if she’d lost track of him in all the chaos. And there was a very tiny part of her that was thankful to finally have something to _do_ , some way to use her skills for something besides flyovers at endless, nameless groundbreakings and commencement ceremonies.  
  
She was still reeling from the news of the 85 crewmembers they’d lost—85, and that seemed like such a huge number, and it was only a tiny fraction of the dead, and her brain couldn’t wrap itself around it—when Tyrol’s voice caught her attention.  
  
“… I don’t know if you heard about Apollo, but…”  
  
And she was sure that he just wanted to yell at her for something—either that, or he’d done something heroic and Apollo-like—so she just snapped, “Heard what?”  
  
Then she saw the look on Tyrol’s face, the way he ducked his head to avoid her eyes, and she would have been feeling the world drop out from under her except the world had already dropped out from under her once today, and how much further did she have to fall? She gritted her teeth, managed to force out, “Any word on Sharon?”  
  
Tyrol looked just like she felt. “No, sir,” he answered, and she jerked a nod and left the bay.

 

* * * * *

  
That night, she prayed for his soul, but she couldn’t quite bring herself to believe it. Lee couldn’t be dead, because if he was dead they’d never have the chance to make it up, and no matter what might have happened between them, they always made it up eventually, after days or weeks, and why should years be any exception? Zak’s face in the photo was smudged with fingerprints, but Lee’s was clean. She touched it now and tried to convince herself that he was never coming back.

 

* * * * *

  
Starbuck always seemed to do things backwards and upside-down. So it wasn’t too surprising that the first time it really hit her that Lee was dead was when she looked up from underneath the Viper and saw him grinning down at her.  
  
She just stared at him a minute, at that genuine, affectionate smile she hadn’t seen in years, his blue eyes and the line of his jaw, and now, just now, for some reason, it was finally sinking in that he was gone. Loss and joy and exhaustion tied her tongue and she couldn’t say anything, just rolled out from under the Viper, took the hand he offered her and let him help her stand.  
  
“I thought you were dead,” she grated out eventually, unsure of how he’d respond.  
  
He just kept smiling. “And I thought you were in hack,” and his tone was exactly like it had been a thousand times at the Academy, teasing, no edge to it at all.  
  
She realized she was still holding his hand, and she pulled her arm away, wiping her fingers on the side of her coveralls. “It’s good to be wrong,” she admitted, and she knew it was inane, but what the frak was she supposed to say? Lee was dead, except he was not only alive but also, apparently, no longer mad at her, and it was all more than enough to throw her off her game.  
  
“Well, you should be used to it by now,” he smirked, and that was just the last straw. She felt her lips curve. It was wrong to be this happy in the midst of everything, but apparently all it took was the end of the world to make peace between her and her best friend.  
  
She looked up at him, dared the old joke. “Everyone has a skill.”  
  
They just stood there, smiling like idiots in the middle of the hangar, and she was sure she’d be getting some serious hazing about this (assuming they all lived long enough for hazing), until Lee—ever the consummate, tight-assed professional—cleared his throat, glanced away, and asked how the repairs were going.  
  
“On track,” she answered, able to focus a little better now that she didn’t have to look at those impossibly blue eyes. “Another hour and she’ll be ready to launch.” A thought struck her. Now that her brain was starting to function again, it was time for a little payback. “So I guess you’re the new CAG now.”  
  
Lee tried for nonchalant, but there was a generous helping of both pleased and terrified. “That’s what they tell me.”  
  
She shrugged casually, rubbed one hand along her arm. “That’s good. It’s the last thing I want.” She looked up at him and smiled. “I’m not a big enough dipstick for the job.”  
  
He gave a short, surprised laugh and raised an eyebrow, and she just grinned at him and raised hers right back, and she thought he might say something more, but they were interrupted by the comm.  
  
The disembodied, businesslike voice seemed to remind him that he had other duties now. He turned to go. “I’ll be in the squadron… ready room.” He gave her one last, long look, then headed for the hatch.  
  
She nodded, watched him make his way across the room. “Hey!” He looked back at her. One final test. “Does your father know you’re still breathing?”  
  
He struggled with it for a moment, then passed with flying colors. “I’ll let him know,” he said finally, rolling his eyes, and she couldn’t help smiling as he disappeared into the corridor.  
  
She got down on her back again, rolled under the Viper, worked steadily for several minutes. Then she levered herself out and up and headed for the supply room. “Need a different head for this spanner,” she explained to Tyrol as she passed. He barely acknowledged her.  
  
The supply closet was blessedly empty, and as she searched for the spanner head, she suddenly found herself leaning against the wall, blinded by tears. She let go for a moment, let the tears flow and her breath come in gulps, easing the knot in her chest. Then she sniffled, wiped her cheeks with a grease-stained hand, found the spanner head she needed, and headed resolutely back out into the bay.

 

* * * * *

  
Her first battle with the Raiders had been terrifying. Now, with that initial encounter out of the way and Apollo flying formation with her, she felt exhilarated and just this side of crazy—exactly how she liked to be.  
  
When Apollo’s ship was damaged and he made his melodramatic plea to be left behind, she just laughed. Saving his life was good, but the look on his face as she screamed toward him in her Viper was even better.  
  
The shock and click of their thrusters locking together seemed somehow incredibly appropriate.

 

* * * * *

  
It felt like weeks since the Cylon attack, even though she was sure it had only been a couple of days, but it looked like they were finally getting at least a small respite. Starbuck was alone in the officers’ quarters for the moment, and she lit a cigar—one of the last cigars in the world, probably, but she’d worry about that later, as well as the fact that “the world” now consisted entirely of a bunch of mismatched ships floating around trying not to get blown up—and examined the picture in her locker. She looked fondly at Zak, at the familiar curves of his arms and his smile, and she felt a twinge of grief and gratitude that at least he’d been spared all of this. Carefully, deliberately, she unfolded the picture and looked at Lee, standing solid and awkward on the other side of the crease. It felt like taking a deep breath for the first time in years.  
  
She spared a thought for the ribbing she’d get, having a picture of the CAG stuck in her locker like he was some Pyramid pinup, but she smiled and secured it firmly in place anyway.  
  
Lords, she was exhausted, but she was still too wired to sleep. She stretched out in her rack, savoring her cigar, and offered a brief prayer of thanks to the gods that even at the end of the world, she still hadn’t quite lost everything.


End file.
